


Rock Bottom

by shadowsong26



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsong26/pseuds/shadowsong26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zuko finally hits rock bottom, between Zuko Alone and The Chase. Originally posted to FFN 10/29/08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Bottom

Six numb, thoughtless hours after leaving the nameless, dusty, near-ghost-town, Zuko paused at a stream to let the ostrich-horse drink. He tied the reins to an exposed root so she wouldn't wander off, then knelt and stared at his reflection.

_I don't care_ , he thought, numbly.  _What_ they _think doesn't matter_.

Except it  _did_  matter. It mattered a  _lot_. They shot him down, threw him out, when he was only trying to  _help_.

_I won't fight you!_

 

He flinched, and started shaking, fighting back tears.  _I am_ not _going to cry, I'm better than this, I have to be.._.

He blinked, and an hour had passed. The ostrich-horse was tugging at the rein, wanting to get moving again, but Zuko didn't feel like standing, much less mounting and facing the world again. So he knelt there, legs falling asleep, watching his reflection some more. It had been...how long? He never kept mirrors around, even before he'd lost everything  _again_.

When the ostrich-horse sighed and lay down to sleep, he realized he'd lost track of time again. He couldn't feel anything but pins and needles below his knees. His reflection was barely visible, blurry and dark, now that the moon had set.

Feathery-soft whiteness was falling, too warm and dry for snow--even after three years, he couldn't understand that--but he was wavering too much, had drifted too far from his center, to recognize it for what it really was. So he pretended it was cherry blossoms, and for a moment he was back by the pond--

His shoulders started shaking again. This time, he didn't bother holding it back. Why should he? No one was here to see.

_I have nothing._

_I am nothing._

_Everything I touch dies._

_I can't do this anymore._

His knife was in his hand--and how did  _that_  happen, he couldn't remember--staring up at him, the inscription a mute reproach.

"This is different," he told it, not as firmly as he would've hoped. "I  _have_  fought. And I  _lost_. And I  _keep losing_. This isn't giving up, it's accepting the inevitable." The inscription had no answers, clearly not believing him. He turned the knife around.

If he did it here, he would fall into the river. Even if his uncle was following, no one would find him for ages; by then, even  _he_  probably wouldn't be able to recognize Zuko anymore. A footnote in history, one failure and defeat after another, until he finally,  _finally_  took things into his own hands, and faded away, his death as worthless as his life.

He knew how to do it, of course. Though he'd never considered it before. Had never even  _thought_  about it. But now it felt right, necessary. Shaking hands opened his shirt, and he rested the knife against his abdomen. He took a deep breath, and started to press.

Then the ground started shaking. Paranoid, he dropped flat onto the ground, trusting in the tall grass and his nondescript clothing to hide him from view.

When the train rolled by, his eyes narrowed. And  _then_  he registered the white fluff dusting the world. He cursed himself, silently, for being so stupid. waited for the train to pass, counted to two hundred, then silently stroked the ostrich-horse awake.

One more chance. He'd get it  _right_  this time, die trying, or finish what he started.

Either way, it was almost over.


End file.
